Superpower

Terry was exposed to a mysterious meteorite, and it gave him a superpower—any woman he slept with became a genius. He discovered this when his wife, June, went from waitress to restaurateur in two months, and his mistress, Angela, stopped filling in crossword puzzles and started designing missile systems. He tried cashing in, advertising his service to college girls desperate for a good GPA. No one took him seriously. Worse, June and Angela left him. They didn’t find him charming anymore. His jokes fell flat. His promises all felt empty. There was no question that they could do better.

Note Under Windshield

I bashed in your bumper and your break lights. Sorry. I was pulling into the spot behind you and I noticed your bumper stickers and rammed you before I could stop myself. It wasn’t the political ones that set me off, for the record. I’m embarrassed to admit it was ‘Virginia is for Lovers.’ Haven’t seen many lovers around lately. Maybe you know where they’re hiding? Maybe it’s easier to find lovers in a Mercedes than a Ford Taurus. You’ll be looking for them via bicycle now. Maybe I shouldn’t be…is a note written on a napkin admissible in court?

Creation Myth 2

Bob was building. His neighbor saw him and asked what he was making. Bob said, I don’t know. I just like the way building makes me feel. The neighbor said, that’s no way to build something. It looks like a car. Add some wheels. So Bob added wheels. But there was still something off about it, so Bob added a windshield. That still felt wrong, so Bob started over. Make a car, he thought. But Bob couldn’t make a car that looked the way a car was supposed to. He didn’t know how. Suddenly, building made Bob feel awful.

Creation Myth

There was this turtle floating around in the void. It was the only thing. It was happy, it liked the quiet. And then one day this bird appeared. Let’s party, said the bird. Let’s fuck shit up. The turtle ignored him, which drove the bird crazy. He couldn’t understand why the turtle wasn’t into partying with him. Bird started making stuff, to get Turtle’s attention. Lakes. Mountains. Clouds. Trees. The turtle wasn’t impressed. The bird said, What the fuck? It created humans next. This the turtle noticed, as one smashed his shell with a stone. Whoops, said the bird.

This Dead Dog

This dead dog surprised everyone by winning the primary. People liked it because it seemed relatable, and for its transparency. It was just a dead dog, nothing more, nothing less. People said, It’s the kind of dead dog that I might find and feel bad for. It’s not too gross, either, which means it has nothing to prove. The incumbent tried to make things about issues. He said, This dead dog knows nothing about foreign policy, has no military experience, and is covered with maggots. But it didn’t matter. Unlike the incumbent, the dead dog hadn’t yet broken anyone’s heart.

Escaping The Wizard

I nabbed a scroll from the wizards’ desk as we fled his workshop ahead of the flames. Outside we heard the wizard scream as he burned. Sara cried, but my years of slavery had hardened my heart. I opened the scroll, hoping it was a treasure map. Sarah asked what it said. It wasn’t a map, it was a letter negotiating her release and return to her family. She looked so fragile and beautiful, streaked with soot in the light of the blazing tower. Like an angel, dependant entirely on me. Nothing, I said. Let’s find shelter for the night.

HORROR

Topher had an encyclopedic knowledge of horror movies. He knew the directors and the studios and the actors, the make-up artists, the special effects gurus, and most of all the tropes. He’d list them with little provocation: Don’t go in there alone! Don’t have premarital sex! Don’t doubt the existence of the killer or the monster! Everyone told to stay in the car is going to get out of the car. Anyone black is doomed. But none of it helped him one bit. He was still woefully unprepared when the spot on his lung was diagnosed as terminal cancer.

ERRAND

In the morning she came downstairs and found him. He was dead. The television was still on, the tape he had been watching had automatically rewound and ejected itself. She kissed his brow and put her hand in his, and sat for a while. Then she stood and took the tape from the VCR and walked out to the car. It was early, but the video store would open soon. She would find something classy. Foreign, maybe. Switch the tapes, then start making the necessary calls. There was no reason for anyone to know that Raymond Carver had died watching Porky’s.

Obit

Mark Hodges got what was coming to him Monday morning following an entirely inevitable heart attack. He is survived by a son, Micah, who lives with his mother in Tucson and is probably better off that way, and a daughter, Ellen, who seems destined to wait tables forever. As a young man Mark had a fondness for other people’s bicycles and a penchant for hurtful nicknames, as an adult his vote cancelled out mine repeatedly, I’m sure. Services for the departed will be held in the dumpster behind the Hardees on Route 17 if there is any justice in the world.

Ghost Story

Harry was in the coma for eleven months, and when he woke he could see ghosts. They were everywhere, and more, they were constantly fucking. Floating through the air, in pairs, in groups, totally debauched—every imaginable kink was represented, and there were no boundaries. Why would there be? They were already dead, they deserved to have some fun. Harry was horrified. The most difficult part was explaining that we all saw them, too, and that we had learned to look the other way. For us, it was no big deal. We’d had eleven months to get used to it.

WHY I BROKE OFF THE ENGAGEMENT

Mara and I were kayaking when we were surrounded by a school of dolphins. They flashed their fins and yelled, Let’s see some titties! And, Hey baby, you ever suck a blowhole? Mara stared at me like she wanted me to do something, like I should dive in and teach them a lesson. I said, Just ignore them. She got mad and said I wasn’t a real man, that her ex would never have taken shit like that off anyone, let alone a fish. She didn’t know dolphins were mammals. Suddenly I realized we were together for the wrong reasons.

Tolerance

Everything but America vanished. The world was just America and the endless ocean. We had to do something with the foreigners who were visiting when their homes disappeared, so we built camps for them to stay in. Then some liberals started complaining. You can’t put people in camps, they said. America is awful, the other countries are better off without us, they said. So we put the liberals in camps, too. They complained, they didn’t like being in the same camps as the foreigners. Why is it that the people that preach tolerance the most are often the most intolerant?

Tiger Woods

Tiger gathered scientists from around the world and pitched his big idea—a drug that kept you from being attracted to anyone but your spouse. Maybe as an injection that you’d need once a year, which would mean recurring income. Or his and her pills, pink and blue. Cute. He wanted to devote his remaining fortune to the development. The scientists knew it couldn’t be done, and debated telling him the truth. In the end, they took his money. Maybe it was unethical, but the man had lost so much, he seemed to need a reason to keep going.

Career Change

I worked for a firm in Temecula that was overrun by wild horses. Something about the place drew them in. At first it was nice. At lunch I would sit at my desk and feed them carrots. But then one morning I found one stuck half-in, half-out of the elevator. It kicked or bit anyone who got too close. The door kept banging its flank, making it panic. The building manager’s plan was to wait for it to die, then haul out the corpse. He asked for volunteers. I love finance, but that was not what I signed up for.

LITTLE HITLERS

I took a job selling little Hitlers on the street. They were two inches tall and perfectly articulated. I had a good corner outside a Starbucks, and I would let the Hitlers wander around the table and wait for customers. Most people just stopped to gawk or listen to them orate in their weird squeaky voices. People always asked what they were saying. I told them, I don’t know, I don’t speak German. But the truth is, I do. My parents are from Frankfurt. But I have kids to feed, and I knew that a translation would blow the sale.

JOURNEY INTO MYSTERY

Imagine the bathroom at Comicon, after three days of servicing doughy, frantic men wearing latex costumes and fed nothing but pizza and chicken fingers and burritos. Inside I found a Ghostbuster and a fat Wolverine leaning against a stall door, listening to their friend who sat inside. Eight more seconds, said the Ghostbuster, and I win. Wolverine cracked his knuckles and chided, Pride before the fall, bub. For some reason I asked them, What are you guys doing? They sized me up. Winning a bet, the Ghostbuster sneered. From inside the stall a voice called out, No, you’re not.

ONE FOR THE ROAD

I cleared the snow off my car, and inside I discovered a body. He didn’t look like he was sleeping, he looked dead. It’s hard to explain the difference. The police and the paramedics came and loaded him into an ambulance. A policeman told me, Sometimes they break into cars for shelter overnight. Looks like he froze to death. Make sure to always lock your doors. I said I would, then, I think he took the change out of my ashtray. I need that money for tolls. The policeman blinked. I blinked. Somehow, he knew I was lying.

EGO

Scientists discovered an alternate universe where everything was the same, with one difference: in 1966, Burt Ward did not win the role of Robin in Batman. Instead, the part went to Charles Manson, in this world an actor, not a messianic murderer. Upon hearing the news, Burt Ward was furious. Manson’s too old to play Robin, he said. He would have been thirty-two in 1966! Robin is supposed to be youthful! Ward’s grandchildren shook their heads. Granddad, they said, Relax. You’re still the Robin of this world. Ward cried, That’s not enough! I should be Robin enough for the Universe!

BOARD OF DIRECTORS

Miles hired a board of directors. He wanted their help—what to wear, where to shop, what to eat—thought they might help him get a girlfriend. They sat at a long wooden table that he moved into his apartment and voted all day long. One week in, during a budget meeting, he realized that his CFO was familiar, was in fact James Toblowsky, who he’d known, vaguely, in High School. James, he said, don’t you remember me? James cleaned his glasses with his necktie. Miles, he said, Nostalgia is counterproductive. Miles nodded. He knew he was in good hands.

BOARD OF DIRECTORS

Miles hired a board of directors. He wanted their help—what to wear, where to shop, what to eat—thought they might help him get a girlfriend. They sat at a long wooden table that he moved into his apartment and voted all day long. One week in, during a budget meeting, he realized that his CFO was familiar, was in fact James Toblowsky, who he’d known, vaguely, in High School. James, he said, don’t you remember me? James cleaned his glasses with his necktie. Miles, he said, Nostalgia is counterproductive. Miles nodded. He knew he was in good hands.

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO DB COOPER?

He ended up in Berkley, where he used the money to fund a production of Hamlet with an all-dog cast. They wandered the stage and literally chewed the scenery. Voice actors stood behind the curtains and read the dialogue into microphones, and the dogs were fitted with electrodes, so they’d jump a little when it was their line. That was to make it easier on the audience. When the run ended, he released the dogs in a supermarket parking lot at night. He’d used all the money he’d stolen, he didn’t know what to do next. Neither did the dogs.

THE WEREWOLF AT WORK.

He made up excuses to call for her. Stephanie, have you seen the Chandler report?

She would smile and pluck it from the clutter on his desk and ask, What would you do without me? She smelled like a house filled with children. They would watch movies as a family in bed and fall asleep in a pile. And then, in the morning, the children ripped to pieces. Stephanie headless in the doorway, covered with blood and thick black fur.

That’s enough, he said, and then filled the room with Lysol to block out the scent of her hair.

THEY’RE NOT ALL GOING TO BE WINNERS

She said, I was thinking you can’t read.

Of course I can read, I said. I read all the time.

She said, I know you can, I was just thinking, what if you can’t. Like, what if you’re tricking me?

I asked her, Why would I do that? And she said, Because you’re embarrassed by your illiteracy.

Look, I said. I’ll prove it. I’ll write you a story.

So I wrote this one, and gave it to her, and said, What about now?

She handed it back and said, I’ll believe you when you write a good one.

MAIN STREET ON A COLD NOVEMBER MORNING

She could have been my grandmother—well, not mine, but someone’s, wrapped in rags. I gave her a dollar and she smiled and said, God bless you.

I said, God bless you too, ma’am, and felt good about changing the world for the better.

The old woman rose to her feet and growled at me, If you’ve got God’s ear, ask him why your face smells like a dick.

Two questions occurred simultaneously. How do I ask for my dollar back? And, what if my face did smell like a dick? Had someone maybe molested me in my sleep?

MEAT DREAM

I was eating a pile of raw, bloody steak. There was no fork or knife, so I pulled the meat apart with my fingers and teeth. My gums grew sore from chewing, juice stained my lips. Reams of discarded fat piled all around my feet.

I woke, and turned to discover that my wife was gone.

I reached out and felt the indentation of her in the mattress. It was cold. I looked past that to the collection of half-empty pill bottles on the dresser that I’d yet to toss out. She’d been gone for a long, long time.

WOODY ALLEN DREAMS

A stand-up comedian is cursed by a witch, so that everyone he meets tries to kill him. Little girls rake his shins with colored pencils, cops open fire, his wife tries to brain him with a heavy first edition Proust. There’s no one he can trust. He hides in the woods and fails to make fire, fails to find food. He sneaks back into the city and finds the witch, and she tells him, there was no curse. This is just your life. In his sleep, Woody smiles. He knew that, somehow, all along.

Haunted

I incurred the mummies curse for spitting on the floor of his tomb. I had some grit in my mouth, and I guess I’m a shitty archeologist. So the ghost of every bug I ever killed started to haunt me. Every fly swatted, every ant lured into a black plastic trap. Every mosquito that bashed against my windshield. That seemed unfair, more the mosquito’s fault than mine. Do you know how many spiders you eat in your sleep? Hundreds. It could be worse, it is just the bugs. I once hit a kid with my car and fled the scene.

Wisdom

The master gathered his students in the shade of a fig tree and bid them ask any question. After much consideration, one novice asked, “What if a panda were to mate with a polar bear?”

The master sat in contemplation. After some time, another novice offered, “Perhaps, a pandola bear cub?”

The novices nodded in agreement, until the master cleared his throat and said, “You are as children. The offspring of the union means nothing. What matters is front row seats to the conception.”

A leaf fell from the fig tree and settled in the master’s lap.

HEY! WHAT’S GOING ON IN THERE?

Even all these years later, after the corrective surgery and physical rehabilitation, after the trial and the media frenzy, after countless hours of community service spent sifting wet garbage under the blazing sun, after failed attempts to reconcile with family members and friends, after the death threats, after countless moves from apartment to apartment and town to town; it feels like it was worthwhile when I remember the look on the zookeepers face when he walked into the cage and discovered what I had done.

WHAT DO YOU REMEMBER ABOUT LOSING YOUR VIRGINITY?

I’ll leave out the part with the barn, and the fire. The bit with the dog is hilarious, but irrelevant to the story. I’m ashamed to have ever taken hostages, so that’s out. There’s the bag of methamphetamine, and the birds, and the train wreck…but so much of that I swore to never speak of again. Should I start with the ghost, and his promise? No, it would take too long. Where does that leave me? I guess: her name was Amy, late one Halloween night, in the back seat of her car.

3. Minutiae

The morning Shana got married, Charles severed his ring finger with a hammer, so it couldn’t be re-attached. Two good thwacks, and then it was lying there, bloody and weird. Have you ever lost a finger? You look down and think, How was that ever a part of me in the first place? The bleeding wouldn’t stop, so he went to the ER. The nurse there said, Good thing you’re a lefty. He flexed his hands and shivered. He’d taken the wrong finger. Shana always complained he didn’t pay attention. He conceded the point, but missed her all the same.

2.LIFE OF LUXURY

I won the lawsuit. Commas fanned across my account balance. I hired a butler. He stood around watching me watch TV. Fun at first, but then I started to feel judged, like he knew how I got the money. I hired a maid to keep him company. They stood there staring and waiting and judging. I dropped the remote so they could fetch it, spilled soda for them to wipe up. The remote stopped working, the couch stained. I said, Fifty each to fuck for me. They balked and sued. Lost the house, lost the couch. Easy come, easy go.

1. Zombie

ZOMBIE

Inside, dim light did battle with plumes of smoke. The regulars along the bar were grizzled men with knobby hands. At the end of the bar there was a zombie chained to the wall. Neither of us had ever seen one in person, just heard stories or seen documentaries about the outbreak. We sat as far away as we could and ordered drinks. The zombie moaned, and someone tossed a peanut at its head. Dave had just been dumped, that’s why we were drinking. He looked at the zombie and said, He looks like I feel. I said, grow up.